I usually don’t think anything about an empty egg carton. I just throw it in the trash can. Unless, of course, it is handed to me by my 2 1/2-year-old daughter on the cosmetic aisle of Wal-mart.
I knew better than to go to the zoo in the first place. I’ve had grocery-shopping on my to-do list for three solid days now. I had planned to go by Tuesday at the latest, so that I could avoid all the idiots that wait until the last minute to buy the ingredients for their Thanksgiving Day feasts. But, as usual, I, being the chief idiot, put it off until 7:00pm on Turkey Day Eve. Not just that, but I waited until my husband went on an all-day deer-hunt so that I could take my wild hoodlums with me just before bedtime.
Procrastination at It’s Finest
For three days I’ve been trying to make my menu and grocery list, complete with the ingredients to make a broccoli and squash casserole and pecan pie to take to our friends’ house for the big meal. Somehow I have misplaced the latest issue of Southern Living, which has FIVE pecan pie recipes from which I had planned to choose. Perhaps it got lost when Bill and I moved every single item in our house for a grand two-day carpet cleaning episode, which we have put off for…well…I’m too embarrassed to admit how long. Those two days, which would be…yes…THIS week, have gotten my brain so turned upside down that I haven’t been able to think straight. I still haven’t unpacked all the goods I had packed up for the open house party last Sunday, either. So by the time I dug my way to the top of the furniture pile, it was already the day before Thanksgiving, and I still hadn’t finished the grocery list, much less done the dirty deed itself.
I spent the entire day poring over recipes and looking through the cabinets, in between child-rearing and house-keeping duties nonetheless, and finally, by noon, had a list I could shop from. I thought surely Bill would be home soon after, so I put Hunter down for a nap thinking I could go with just one child in tow. My phone was not getting any service for some crazy reason, so I couldn’t receive any text messages from Bill that let me know he was going to be out until after dark. By dinnertime I realized I would have to take both kids with me AFTER dinner to the craziest place on the face of the earth at the worst possible moment in time. After all, I had computer work to do as soon as I put them to bed. I couldn’t put it off any later.
Where’s My List?
We suited up in our winter gear, because our 80-degree days dropped to the 30s with wind yesterday. With surprising happiness, we bee-bopped our way merrily into the store armed with a buggy and a two-column shopping…”um…has anybody seen my list?” I asked, digging in pockets and through my tiny purse. Surely not. Surely on the most important grocery run of the year I did not leave my list at home. At this hour. And with these kids. And after I spent an entire day working on this LIST. But no list. And as chicken as I am, I was more willing to brave the grocery store with nothing but my failing memory than to journey back out into the blasting cold with my little ones to see if I left it in the car.
Two aisles down, my phone started ringing calypso music, and I thanked God that Bill would care enough to call me at such a moment. Before I told him of the list issue he had already offered to come help me! A few minutes later, Bill showed up with the list, took Will and headed off to pick up his share of groceries. Hunter and I kept on pushing our way through the masses, grateful to not have an extra body hanging off the buggy. After rescuing the coffee can just before the grounds hit the floor and grabbing the nearly-opened breadcrumbs amidst the stifled laughs of other grocery-shoppers, I was ready to pull my hair out by the time I headed across to pick up some Dimetapp.
Where are the Eggs?
On the way back to the register, I had the bright idea to grab a lip pencil since mine seems to have disappeared, even though I had no idea what color to get. I was just celebrating my ability to choose a neutral color in record time when Hunter handed me the empty carton of eggs. Oh…m’gosh. “WHERE are the eggs?” Hunter just looked at me curiously and leaned over to show me all the eggs in the buggy. I was so not happy to see egg running down all over my gigantic buggy full of holiday groceries. So many times I have moved and moved and moved again the egg carton. EVERY shopping trip. EVERY week. I keep on moving the eggs to keep them out of Hunter’s reach and still have them high enough to not get squished so as to avoid such a situation, and the night of all nights–the NIGHT before Thanksgiving–Hunter dumps 18 eggs all over my buggy.
Wipe, Clunk.
When I lugged us up to the checkout, the checkout lady saw my carton and immediately handed me a plastic bag and a roll of paper towels. Do you think she’s seen that happen before? Bill and I each took turns picking up each item, one a time, and wiping it off before placing it on the conveyor belt. Wipe, clunk. Wipe, clunk. “No, Hunter you can’t have the goldfishies.” Wipe, clunk. “Will, put down the flashlight. No, you can’t have a car. We don’t need toys, we just spent five billion dollars on groceries. Besides, Santa is coming soon. Let’s ask him for that.” Wipe, clunk.
And then it all had to be toted into the house and find a home after being disinfected. At bedtime.
